The Table Spread Of Empty Cups Poem by Seyi Ojenike

Here is the table, wide as a field,
spread with empty cups and broken plates,
each one a hollow mouth,
waiting for something to fill it.

Mothers sit with hands folded tight,
their palms worn and wanting,
fingers tracing the rims of cups,
that never hold more than air.

Children's eyes are big as the moon,
their hunger quiet, an ache they swallow,
while widows lean into the dark corners,
their voices thin as the cloth on their backs.

Here is the table of promises,
laid out in rows of dusty plates,
where the disabled wait,
their eyes fixed on doors that never open.

And the world passes by, unseen,
while the table stretches on and on,
a feast of silence,
a spread of empty cups.